The Trouble With Being a Holy Weapon
by TwinMoons
Summary: Updated. During all the angsting that's going on in the last crusade, there's one last opinion remaining unnoticed. PG-13...because the thing is getting a bit odder than I thought.
1. Of Dainty Damsels and Grouching Swords

Disclaimer and author's note : I do not own FE4, Tyrfing, Falaflame or anything pertaining. I wish I do, but alas, it's not meant to be. The timing of this fic is going to jump around a little once a perspective changes, but if you'd played FE4, you'd be able to guess where in Kansas everyone's staying.

**The Trouble With Being a Holy Weapon******

****

**Of Dainty Damsels and Grouching Swords**

He stirred from a long sleep, still rather drowsy. Hadn't been awake in such a long time, ever since that blue-haired kid was roasted to ashes and singed his metal along with it. Tyrfing would've liked to congratulate the boy for his efforts in destroying what's left of his dignity if he wasn't so fried first.

A gentle rocking motion was the first thing he'd experienced. Last he checked, that redhead Velthomer guy had him sealed up in nice, comfy casket by the wall. And unless great advances in technology had been made while he was sleeping, those kinds of things weren't supposed to swing. Or move at all, for that matter.

A salty smell hit his senses. That really did it. Home---or at least the place where ol' Baldo set up residence and kept him---was near the sea, but never quite so near enough to smell the salts quite so vividly.

_Where in the blazes am I?_

_Good morning, Tyrfing, _came a light, cheerful voice, as if in answer. Falaflame, of course. That dainty damsel of a spellbook was always in such a ditzy cheery mood, the sword thought. He remembered well how she snickered when his previous owner was burned to a crisp by her pre---well, current, owner.

_And a good slash in the binding to you too, Fala,_ he replied, though with more steel in his edges than he'd intended. Perhaps hilts are better at this kind of thing. _What in the world ever wake me up this time? I was just having this nice dream about a comely-looking silver claymore---_

_Your next owner, I'd surmise,_ the spellbook of scathing heat answered, her voice a bit bemused. _Old boy Alvis is very much worked up about it. He'd been clutching me like a security blanket for the past few hours._

_And you like it, of course,_ he commented dryly.

_Naturally.___

If Tyrfing had a human head, he'd probably be shaking it in exasperation. The first company he'd had in a long while, and it just had to be Falaflame. Didn't have anything against her, but sometimes her peculiarity drove him nuts. She was always _too_ attached to her wielder for some reason. And it probably helped her, too, that Grandbellian etiquettes dictated that sons take up their parent's house, regardless of which side of the family his bloodline was derived from. She'd grow incredibly bored stuck with Fala and Fala's daughters after her.

He could almost see the reflection of her creator Salmand. Most likely, he's a leering old man---or dragon, whatever their creators were. _At any rate, Falaflame, do you have a mind to tell me where I am? I have this feeling that I'm not in my old seaside residence anymore, but I can't see a thing with this scabbard on._

_Use your head. Or your hilt, depends. It's not like there's any brains in there, anyway, _Falaflame retorted back, irritated for some reason. Thorhammer always say that she was prone to mood swings.

By a thousand comely swords a-slashing, he missed that Thorhammer. He always had something to say to everything.

_Now come, Tyr. You haven't been asleep so long that you're sending unconsciously, do you?_ Came the fire spell's voice again. He winced. Damn straight. He was rusting. Swords needed a good whack every now and then, and he hadn't had that in, what? Eighteen years?

_I'm not in Chalphy, Fala. Where the heck am I if I'm not?_

He swore that he heard Fala giggle. _Alvis shipped you out to give to your next owner. That dear man is too honorable for his own good at times. _

_Let me guess. My next owner is the baby son of that blue haired kid, isn't it? He was still sucking his thumbs last I saw him._

_It was a long time, Tyr. Things considered, I'll probably get a chance or two to bake you again, depending on if Alvis decided to fight for real or not. Just like old times, eh?_

That might've been funny for her, but feeling one's hilt melting wasn't an entirely good experience. _I am not amused, Fala._

_Cheer up. If what Thor and ol' Mistortin's been bombarding me lately is right, then the kid kicks butt. In fact, I was hoping you'd win, _Falaflame answered him, sounding a tad more serious than her previous reply. In fact, he was inclined to say that she was really telling him exactly how she felt.

And it was surprising. _Whatever drove you to make that statement?_

This time, her reply was dead serious in tone, though not without some hints of wry amusement. _Stay around Loptous for five or six years and the same will happen to you,_ she sent. _That spell was absolutely horrible. I understand why Narga had such a thing against him. Alvis was dense in a way, though. Instead of giving her to his daughter Julia, he opted to lock her up instead. Guess he still loves his son._

Tyrfing vaguely remembered Alvis as being Falaflame's current user, but that he had a son? And a son who used Loptous? A daughter who's capable of using Narga? _Now you've completely lost me._

If Falaflame was human, she would've shrugged. _Sorry. Can't explain good. You'd better ask Holsety about it, that guy always had a ways with words._

Tyrfing wasn't always very comfortable around Holsety. As a sword, he rather liked things simple. The Wind spell usually liked things high and falutin' and is as eccentric as most spells go. Thor was about the only sane one in the whole bunch...which brought up an earlier observation.

_Falaflame, you mentioned Thorhammer and Mistortin,_ he called her. The flame's voice was already fading. _Are they coming, too? Where are they?_

Fala's voice was distant and almost inaudible in her answer, and Tyrfing had a slightly queasy feeling even if he had no stomach to speak of.

_They come, _she said._ They and the others, those we have not seen a while. Thor shall be your enemy, as do I and a few of us…_

Her voice trailed off.

_Fala?__ Fala? Falaflame! Answer me! _Tyrfing called, feeling a sense of urgency wafting over him. He still needed answers, and answers she didn't give him. Fala couldn't just up and go _now._

Her last answer came faintly, as if being carried on the weak sea winds. _Alvis…calls me…I must be the Fire that Sears the Sand once more….Fala's Fire…._

And she was gone.

The swaying motion got worse, as if the person carrying him was running. The holy sword felt a wave of darkness washing over his senses for a time, a wave of despair. It wasn't terribly unlike the last war he'd fought in, but it wasn't that strong either. His carrier was being chased by shadows, and as a creation of light he hated sitting idle in his scabbard. If he ever got out of this, that marauding despair wouldn't stand a chance.

And then there was the sense of someone, something familiar, closing by, though still on the other side of the sea. Something that reminded him of that laughing young lad who held him with such utter fascination, long ago. That lad had grown old and died for ages, but nothing would ever make Tyrfing forget the feeling that was Baldo, no matter how faintly.

And Baldo was coming.

_I wonder if the kid ever stopped sucking his thumbs, _Tyrfing thought mildly as the murmurs of the other holy weapons began to come into being around him.


	2. Swords, Spears and Smithereens

Author's note: For the purposes of this fanfic, I went and researched a few authentic mythological names for the holy weapons. And thus regardless of the patch, they are Tyrfing, Gae Bolg, Balmung and so fourth.

That said, let the curtains roll!

**Chapter One**

**Swords, Spears and Smithereens**

She had been cursed with misfortune ever since she was born.

Her first owner was a young lass with good sense, though she did tended to use more sharp pointy things than sense at times, but a good girl. When they'd met, she was a desperate thing fighting for her life in the Darna siege with her brother, and with both of them being lance knights there wasn't much that they could do. Lancers functioned best as chargers, most foes either demolished in a combined rush or suffered so great a drop in morale that they'd rather turn tail than fight. And it worked in the battlefield.

They had no place in a siege except in a counter-offensive rush, and the situation wasn't quite willing for that particular tactic.

Noba and her brother, Dain---funny how she could still remember them and Noba's children, long after all of them were dead and buried---were always a close brother-sister pair. They wreaked havoc like crazy, until the brother's fascination with the skies and the high-soaring wyverns of the mountains drove a rift between them. From that rift Gungnir of the Heavens and Gae Bolg of the Earth was born.

That was when, she believed, her curse began.

The name of earth and sky only served to drive the two apart, and Noba left her brother together with her consort to form a new to the north where the earth was plentiful. Dain chose the high mountains, dragons and clear skies of the south, and their decisions caused many a tragedy for both sides. Countless wars and skirmishes. Starvation, famine. Those who held Gungnir always suffered through moral dilemmas and disdain from other people, and those who held Gae Bolg always ended their life in a miserable death.

Noba herself died in sorrow, never coming to terms with her brother. Her son Nova was betrayed by his own trusted bannermen. And so the list went on and on.

And Gae Bolg remembered each and every one of them.

Even now, as the dragon girl Althena bore her into war, she couldn't help but think of the mess that was the girl's life. Her father, Gae Bolg's previous owner, met his sad death fighting against the sky. She was lied to all her life, almost killed her brother, lost her foster brother and secret love, yet she was strong. But could strength defeat the curse on the destinies of Earth and Heaven?

_Perhaps,_ Balmung's voice came on the wind. She was having a good deal of fun splitting heads and helping her newfound owner dodge whatever came their way, it seemed. _You know she and dragon boy are close. Get them together, nudge nudge, wink wink, poof. Rift remedied._

_Easy for you to say,_ Gae Bolg snapped. The divine sword was being a trifle too happy at being let out of the Yied shrine, and she wasn't in the mood to be chipper. _Arion is nowhere to be found, and Gungnir hasn't talked to any of us for decades. If only it was that simple._

Irritably, the spear could almost hear Balmung giggling. _You and Gungnir are just like Noba and Dain, you know. Terribly stubborn, both. Relax…remember what that Johan boy said? The power of love conquers all. They'll come around._

_And hasn't Johan's love declared her relationship with that Baldo boy?_

There was silence as the sword was apparently slicing off somebody's head again. _Those sleep staves are irritating,_ it said after a good while had passed. _Shannan's just as susceptible as everybody else, too. Anyway, I do see your point._

_Right, _Gae Bolg sent grudgingly. _You do your job, I'll do mine._

_Don't we all?_ Came Balmung's answer. _But seriously, Bolg, I think these two really do stand a good chance of ending the long family curse. I've been around, seen quite a bit. They've been around each other long enough to allow some sense into their head._

_I don't hear you, tra la la…_

Gae Bolg could've swore she'd heard Balmung snorted. _Fine, be like that._

Balmung switched off into silence and the Spear of the Earth once again resumed her ponderings. It wasn't like she didn't thought of Arion and Althena before, did quite many times during her tenure at Dain's place, in fact. She just didn't think they had an actual chance of fixing all the mess that the family had turned into.

Arion had sworn to be Thracian, and Althena had gone back to being a Lensterborn.

Somehow she wondered if there really was a light at the end of the tunnel. People could be so dense, so similar and yet not alike at all.

Weapons weren't supposed to understand people was the only rational reason she could think of about the long-standing feud.

-----------

_How are you taking it thus far, Balmung?_ Mistortin's worried voice came across the din, and for a moment she was almost distracted. During the long time she was staying at the Yied Shrine, with no one for company save for the occasional brief brushes with Gae Bolg or Gungnir, the two too-serious-for-their-own-good spears, she had gotten used to being alone. Seventeen years ago, however, with Mistortin's coming into that area, she had found in him a constant company, always chatting up with her, telling her what's been happening in the world.

Of course that would distract _anyone. _Holy weapons were still bound to emotions. All those things capable of doing extraordinary feats do.

_Fine,_ she answered. _I'm enjoying this quite a lot. Those Lopto priests just don't know the first thing about the proper care of a Holy Weapon._

Mistortin chuckled. _I'm sure half of that stems from the fact that 'proper care' usually involves whacking dark priests on the head._

_Well, there's that._

Of all the three swords created at Darna on that fateful day, not much was know about Mistortin. 'Holy' Tyrfing was a bit on the grouchy old man side of things, complete with the ailing memory that came with such territory. 'Divine' Balmung was unsure of herself and had a motto in risk avoidance, however possible. The years spent at the Yied Shrine didn't do much to improve her outlook on life, either. 'Demon Sword' Mistortin was, on the other hand, pretty much a wild card. Neither Tyrfing or Balmung had any ideas why he was named thus by his users, or how the legends about him being particularly fond of blood came to be when he seemed perfectly happy with a whetstone and some rust remover like the other swords. The blade was rather nice to talk to when he's around as well, so it only served to add to the confusion. Sometimes he was a rogue on par with Ichieval, and sometimes he could be as complicated and pain-inducing as Holsety. Balmung preferred to think of him as being a bit more carefree than the rest.

_I heard you talking with Gae Bolg a few moments ago,_ he started once the silence between them began to grow too long for comfort. The sword's owner Aless was plowing through a few rows of enemies, and whatever came later was stopped as the blade bit into flesh and armor.

For a moment Balmung couldn't answer, because Shannan had just snapped out of his doze and was rightly bashing heads left and right. He was aided by the blonde thief girl and was pulling off shooting star swords like tomorrow wasn't going to come, so the divine sword was having quite a lot on her hands---or hilt, depending on one's perspective. They didn't converse again for quite sometime.

And so it went. Balmung believed she caught a whiff of Thorhammer for a brief moment before he was gone again. Shannan's cousin did his owner in, she believed. Or at least injured him or her enough to warrant a warping out. There were a few more welcomed mages to be sliced and diced, but soon it was over. She could hear Valkyrie complaining about lending strength to his young master from miles away.

_Mistortin?_ She called, aware that the others had ceased their fighting.

_Still here,_ came his voice, sounding exhausted. _I swear, if this Aless boy doesn't take me to a proper smithy soon, I shall break into smithereens. His father had much better senses in this regard._

Balmung snorted. She was trapped under slime, moulds and other liquids and semi-liquids that she didn't want to recall for too much, and he's complaining of ill repair? _Don't be such a dagger, Mistortin. I'm sure that with all the time your master's been spending with that Blagi girl, he's probably flat broke by now._

_Too true.___

_What were you going to ask me about Gae Bolg?_

The demon sword chuckled. _To see if she still is a pessimist, and the topic---Aless? What the---?_

Silence.

Balmung waited a while as Shannan whispered a few words to her bloody edge, a strange Isaacian custom that she had no idea about its reasons. There was nothing more from Agustria's blood drinker.

_Mistortin?___

And there was no answer, except for the distant sound of something breaking into pieces.

--------------------------

As Althena's dragon flew over the sea, the Spear of the Earth could've shivered.              

It was cold. Colder than blades left under a Frost Moon, colder than death, colder than those mindless Fenrir spells of the Lopto priests.

Gungnir.

From the eighteen years that she'd spent in the company of her icy brother, they never talked. The two were born from love and hatred, bitterness and sorrow. Two sides of the same coin, and yet they tried to deny it by not acknowledging each other's existence. But Heaven always stood opposite of the Earth, and as such they always felt it when their counterpart was close by, much more readily than the other weapons. He was brooding, deep in the dark, entrenched in the shadows. Born of life and light, surrounded by death and darkness. Gungnir knew she was there, but chose not to call her, the same choice he made all those hundreds of years ago on the first day that Noba and Dain parted.

And so Gae Bolg wondered if Althena had the same thoughts as she. Holy Weapons could feel the minds of their users to a degree, but deeper thoughts...they couldn't be reached. She knew that Althena was in a hurry to save something, stop something. She also knew of a dim hope within her heart, but couldn't bring herself to be so optimistic. No matter what Arion and Althena may think, no matter what their feelings for each other were, the earth and sky couldn't be one. They were sundered long ago.

Gungnir.

_What am I thinking? _She sent aloud, aware that she was quite out of range of the others in her troupe. _It cannot be. I'm getting as hopeless as that girl Althena._

They were nearing a peninsula when a wave of nausea hit her mind with the force of a sledgehammer. Initially disoriented by the rush and the space of centuries fogging up her mind, Gae Bolg quickly recovered pieces of memory that told her what she was feeling.

_Tyrfing!? _Gae Bolg nearly shouted. When Holsety told her that his previous owner was killed and the sword locked up in Chalphy, she'd never thought to see him on a battlefield again. At least not quite so early.

There was a small silence, then a wave of familiarity washed over her. _Gae Bolg. Haven't seen you for quite sometime._

_What happened to you? I felt such an intense wave of nausea._

Tyrfing snorted. His voice wasn't very clear, like being wrapped under several layers of bundling. _Motion sickness.__ Whoever is carrying me has no idea on how to carry  a sword, dammit. It sways so much I could puke._

The spear found herself resisting the urge to giggle. _Be nice, _she said.

_How are you doing? I talked a bit with Falaflame, but she's off before I could ask anything._

_Fine,_ Gae Bolg answered. _But I really don't know how to fill you in. I've just came into the messy picture only a few months ago in Thracia._

_Thracia?__ I thought your line lives in Lenster? Have you gotten things settled with that brother of yours, or had the two countries just decided to unite?_

Giving a bitter laugh at that thought, she replied. _Neither. My master was killed by Gungnir's in coming to your late master's aid, and they took me and Althena here to custody in Thracia. The matter has just been dealt with only a short while ago, and I'm still dizzy whenever I think of it._

_I see,_ Tyrfing said. If he was a human, he probably would've give her a sagely nod. _You've been through quite a lot._

_No more than anyb----_

Before she could even finish her sentence, Althena brought her dragon down into diving run. Gae Bolg readied herself, aware of what was coming next. All thoughts and speech were erased from her mind as she prepared for one thing : the kill. It was why she was, the reason she was made. The stench of darkness pervaded, and she must destroy it to return light. That was why they were.

And then she saw a most peculiar sight.

On that selfsame peninsula that Althena was directing her dragon to was a crinky old man, holding a sword way too large for him to use, not to mention that he didn't seem the type to use it. Children huddled beside him, paler than death. The hounds of darkness were closing in on them, and Althena hasted her mount to the spot.

It was then that she realized what was happening, and that she might've had one unique opportunity of saving a Holy Sword.


	3. Security

**Chapter Two**

**Security**

For some reason, Valkyrie had never felt so tired in all his lifespan.

Before...his job was easy work: Being a proxy between gods and men, doing communications busywork, resurrecting the occasional person or two, being worshipped on an altar back home in Edda...in short, pretty much a pampered aide-de-camp. It was all lying around and doing nothing except being used in to twap a fly once or twice, as he was mostly used in the reign of Corpul Boy's great grandfather.

And thus his current workload bothered him.

It wasn't like Corpul had used him for battle or had overused his dead-reviving ability or anything. It wasn't like he had any ability-boosting auras of the other holy weapons. And while the presence of the dark mages and Loptous disturbed his fine sensibilities, they weren't that much of a hassle.

It was the constant mental soothing and schmooching that galled him.

To his credit, Corpul was remarkably strong for his age and background. Being the so-called pampered brat of General Hannibal didn't do anything for his resolve to fight with Celice's army, nor did the stares of many common reserve soldiers who passed him by. He kept his cool, remained remarkably unfazed and did his job professionally...which was more than could be said of a few other key members of the troops.

But he was still a little boy.

As an intelligence being, Valkyrie knew that...well, biologically, Corpul was no longer a mere little boy. But psychologically, he was. No matter how calm and cool he tried to appear, the kid was dead scared within...and who but the old father's staff with a deal of godly aura to turn to for the huggles? Of course. And considering that Corpul was bound to get traumatized for every foe he'd seen killed or the next head lopped off one's shoulders, he had quite a work to do. In fact, the times he'd been used as a makeshift totem pole would've numbered in the hundreds ever since they left Thrachia.

_Not that it was better before, _Valkyrie mused out loud. _That Claude was just as bad. His philosophical monologues always scared me for some reason...I wonder what he did to get la--_

And thus he heard a slight chuckle not too far from where he was. _A-a-ah. You know what he did, Valkyrie. He got off his----_

_Ichieval, I need none of your jokes right now. I'm trying to think._

_Certainly doesn't look like it from where I'm standing._

_Perhaps my idea of thinking is far too involved for that arrowhead-sized brain of yours to grasp._

Another chuckle. _Like contemplating how your old master ever got to whoop his woman?_

_  
That's none of your concern. Claude didn't prep me up on his bedroom wall the same way your paranoia mistress did, and I don't have your voyeuristic habits. Now will you shut up?_

_  
_If Ichieval was a human, he would've smirked himself to death judging from his tone of voice. _Shutting up, sir high and mighty._

And he was gone.

Valkyrie darkly muttered oaths under his breath, and some of those were more fitting for a dark mage than a holy staff of healing and miracles. But hell and dammit, even staves need a day off, especially when one's being driven to death by a holy bow.

And then he heard Corpul's vibes of fear sending across the boy's hands again. Wonderful. His negativity was affecting the boy's psyche, which wasn't all that durable in the first place. Corpul'd managed to crack up enough gusto to call Althena back when she was going after the dark mages across the sea, seeing that her defenses against the arts wasn't the best in the business, and used whatever powers he had to umpped it up. Young adolescent crushes. They're all the same, every one.

_There, there, _Valkyrie whispered to nobody in particular as he sent comforting vibes to the hands of his young master. Sometimes he'd wished for Lynn, even though he liked Corpul well enough. Lynn's got great guts, and she's got the blood. But every time he saw young Corpul like this, all scared and trembling while pretending to be grown up, he'd always forgotten that the thought ever entered his mind in the first place.

And then Valkyrie would wonder if he'd just turned into another old man Tyrfing.

-------------------------------------------

The very same old man Tyrfing was at that point wondering about his future well-being.

First, Falaflame blasted the head of his previous owner off. He wasn't sure he liked that, but the sword had nothing against the spell, and the business itself was ancient by kids today's reckoning. Second, he was followed by dark mages. Third, the man holding him didn't know jack squat about fighting. The presence of the approaching Gae Bolg made him feel slightly easier, but as far as he knew high defense against spells wasn't in the bloodlines of Gae Bolg's old coot or his wife, and that brought problems. Ah well. He was rather immortal anyway, unless the Loptous kid got a flash of brilliance through his head and decides to melt him in the foundry. And he'd doubted that. Tyrfing never held delusions of grandeur that his power matched Loptous's or any such nonsense, but Loptous _was_ a delusion of grandeur. He'd seen every single one of its wielder as more than slightly mad, arrogant, self-centered and too-stupid-to-care-about-the-outside-world-since-I've-got-mega-powers oafs. And that includes Loptous himself...Loptous the dark lord, not the spell.

If only the new Baldo kid on the block would get here soon. He was literally itching to get out of his scabbard and make mince meat out of some dark mages. And you know what swords do when they get impatient.

_They grow grumpy, _Tyrfing finished aloud, not caring if he looked like an idiot or no. And grumpy swords were rather dangerous things to wield. Happy swords have high critical rates. Grumpy swords seldom hit, let alone critical, and not out of their own volition either. It was as if the grumpiness itself eats into the blade and jinxes everything.

If only this confounded man would bring him out into the open so he could see! Gae Bolg wasn't answering now and probably wouldn't do so until the whole mess is over and done with, and the lack of information annoyed him to no end. War is all about intelligence gathering. Whoever held him must not be a warrior.

And moreover, it swayed.

Trying very hard to keep his motion sickness under control, the Holy Sword sent evil thoughts of curses and needled butt cushions to whoever Fala's owner had to choose to carry him out of Chalphy.

--------------------------------------------

Blood.

It was a dark mage's blood, which meant that it wasn't really that appreciable. Couple that with the fact that Gae Bolg didn't like blood in the beginning, and she just had a winning recipe. Was it the heart? Or was it the guts? Or did she just cut through his bones? Hard to tell. All she knew was that they made a kill, she and Althena, and the girl was bringing her dragon in for another attack run.

Air whooshed by them as the beast made a steep climbing turn, soaring in an almost perfect circle above their fallen prey. She could sense Althena's wild grin. Her young mistress didn't like killing and didn't like to see another being killed, but she was enjoying this.

_As do I, _Gae Bolg realized just before clearing the thoughts out of her mind once again. Not now. Now is the kill. Now is death.

The dragon swooped in, its cry filling the cold air, its reins taut in the hands of its mistress. The beating of wings sent ripples through the seawater and the grass, the shadow of the dragon looming over the battered corpse of the first mage. Their eyes were on the second. The trajectory was set, and Althena had lowered her lance down for the attack run. The plains rushed past them. Faster, faster, faster. Gae Bolg could almost feel the tip of her iron skewering through his head, his eyes, his guts. They were closing. Only a few mere inches.

She met with thin air. The mage had dodged at the last minute, and even now she could see his spellbook shimmering with pentagrams and runes in front of him. The air began to thicken, and she knew what spell was being cast.

_Yotsmungand._

Althena apparently reached the same conclusion as she did, as the girl cursed and immediately yanked the reins of her dragon up to avoid the counterattack. Despite being not the most powerful spell around, a few blasts of it would put her out of the air as easily as an arrow would. The beast took an abrupt turn sideward in trying to balance itself, and in that act ran into the path of another mage shimmering with darkness.

Gae Bolg could hear Althena cry out as the blast hit them, the magic sapping her life out. She could almost feel it slipping from the Dragon Mistress's hands and for a moment sheer panic ran through her mind. But the moment passed. Though slightly weakened, Althena didn't die. She gritted her teeth and whipped up the reins once more, steering her mount away from the immediate danger. 

"Thanks, Corpul," she muttered. Gae Bolg reminded herself to thank Valkyrie, too. They might not have survived without that little protective spell the boy cast over them, and blast it if there wasn't a recognizable chunk of assistance from the wand.

The dragon dove in for another attack run and to her credit, this time Althena didn't miss. Gae Bolg could feel herself sinking into flesh and bone, burrowing through the malignant heart of the worm. Then she was pulled free as her mistress commanded her dragon to go for another charge at the other mage, who was trying to cast another spell even at that moment. Instead of flying up and swooping down on an attack run as she usually did, this time the girl urged her dragon to leap forward, its wings serving only as buoy to lift it through the short distance. She didn't even lower Gae Bolg.

She could hear the mage screaming even as the dragon tore his head off with its fangs. 

It didn't really surprise her that Althena would use this tactic, as it's been taught as a desperate strike in the barracks of Thracia. A dragon was a beast, and sometimes it's just more efficient to use nature to your advantage.

The spear heard a slight whinny off a distance, and she realized that the Pegasus-riding Holsety girl had came and finished off the other mages. Their job was done.

"Fee," Althena called, turning her dragon to meet the other flyer. "You came a bit later than I expected. What news from the front?"

"Celice is making his way up here to secure the children. Oyfaye suggested taking Chalphy castle first, but Celice wouldn't have it. He said this campaign's been about the lives of the people all along and if he gives them up for the sake of personal desires, then he don't deserve to lead this army," the other girl replied, her voice faint to Gae Bolg's ear. It'd be better if she was more full-blooded, but at least half wasn't bad. It made her voice a bit more easily understandable for her, whereas a non-blooded person's voice would be twice as distant.

"And Leaf?"

  
Fee chuckled. "He's fine. His sword broke from overuse at the same time as Aless's, though, so they're both very grumpy right now."

  
Althena laughed. "That's rather like Leaf. I told him SO many times to take care of his weapons with all the workload he'd been giving it, and does he listen?"

  
"Boys are like that. You wouldn't believe how many times Sety and I used to go arguing with each other about how he's been abusing Holsety, but let's leave that for now. We should be going down and see if the children are all right."

Nodding, Althena pulled on the reins of her beast and took it downward. "I hope they are...and that priest over there should be able to tell us something, too."

From her spot in Althena's hand, Gae Bolg wondered briefly about Mistortin breaking down and Holsety being overused, but decided against pondering too much on the matter. Instead, she thought it better to talk to Tyrfing and while the time away until his new master arrived.

_Tyrfing?___

_  
Here. Took your sweet time._

_How's that queasy feeling of yours?_

_  
Better. Don't you have anything better to talk about now that you've survive and all, or should I strike up a conversation about the weather?_

_Don't be grumpy. I'm going to tell you that Celice is coming to get you, it's only a matter of moments until he hacks through enough of the Rotenritter and get here._

_Celice?___

_  
Your new thumb-sucking Baldo master._

_Ah._


	4. The Quirks of Fate

**The Trouble With Being a Holy Weapon**

**Chapter Three : The Quirks of Fate **

****

The first meeting Tyrfing had with Sigurd had been rather traditional. His father, old...Byron, it seemed...had taken the boy to the shrine they housed the sword in, to show him the family heirloom. Sigurd was but a small thing then, a small thing with eyes full of wonder as he stared at what must've been the finest blade he'd ever seen in his entire life. Their last meeting, when Sigurd took him to the fields of Barhara as part of his full dress uniform, wasn't anything Tyrfing would care to remember. It was basically...being roasted by Falaflame, who seemed to have enjoyed the whole ordeal.

The first meeting between Tyrfing and Celice was brief. Sigurd was in a hurry to get his child away to Isaac, and he had more things on his mind than showing his son the family treasure. So, in a sense, he and the boy had their true first meet on the bloody field of Chalphy, seventeen years after.

At first, it seemed there was nothing special about the boy's _feeling_, except for the definite air of naïve honor that seemed to have been the trademark of Baldo's bloodline.

Then Celice pulled him out of the sheath, and it suddenly came. It was dazzling. Not just the sunlight that he hadn't seen for almost two decades, but it was _his _light. It was giggling, murmuring, alive, and it definitely isn't Baldo. Narga. Yes, that was it. Even half-inherited as it was, the light was amazing. Tyrfing had never saw the boy's mother, but she was certainly as pure-blooded as the line of kings itself, for the last time he checked there was no noblewoman with significant amounts of Narga in the court.

"So you're Tyrfing," Celice whispered. "My father's sword, my ancestor's sword. The Legendary Holy Blade. I can't believe it."

_He looks just like Sigurd, _Tyrfing mused in approval. _Probably just about as much political wits, but that's as much of a good thing as it's a bad thing._

The boy took a few swipes at the air, as if to test the blade. "This is amazing. It looks like a heavy sword, but it's so light to handle. Thank you for giving this to me, Your Grace."

  
The Bishop only nodded. "I only did what I was bid, though I must ask you again not to inquire into his name," he said, almost inaudible to Tyrfing's ears. Celice saluted, and then sheathed the blade again, to Tyrfing's disappointment. He just realized how much he missed the outside world.

_You'll get plenty more chances to see the outside world, Tyr, _Gae Bolg called from above. _If we make it, I guarantee that you'll get to see the world a lot._

_How so?_

_Celice's fiancée is an Odo, _she explained. _The girl loves swordfighting. And Celice's been her sparring partner since who knows when. It's likely that you'll see some use, old friend._

Tyrfing sighed. _That's a relief. I'm just afraid they'd just put me on that boring altar again._

Gae Bolg chuckled slightly, before he heard the cry of a dragon as it veered off into the sky.

---------------------

Mistortin regained his senses in the foundry, next to the pieces of a rather good-looking light sword. He still remembered breaking into little pieces, which wasn't that good a memory. Judging from its placement on the workman's table, the light sword would be next to go after him, and he was right.

As he adjusted to the low light conditions, Mistortin began to notice two figures leaning on the wall beside the doorway. One appeared to be a golden-haired young man wearing a long black cloak. Aless. The other appeared to be a brunette in cracked white armor. Leaf, and maybe he should have that armor of his fixed too, but it wasn't in Mistortin's position to suggest.

"Your fault," Leaf began to throw an accusing stare at Aless. "If you didn't spend all of your money on Lynn, I don't have to len..."

  
"...And you didn't spend any money on sweet cousin Nanna, perchance?" Aless raised an eyebrow. "Those pearl earrings are rather noticeable, if you'll permit me to say so."

"That's not _all _my money," Leaf argued, his face seemingly reddening in the dim light.

Mistortin wasn't able to catch Aless's reply, but he was sure it involved a chuckle or two.

Leaf's stare back to his master was near the point of murderous. Grumbling beneath his breath, the boy suddenly turned to his feet, which he seemed to have found a sudden fascination for.

"Come on, Leaf, you know it's true," Aless grinned wickedly. If Mistortin knew his young master---and he should---one poor Lenster boy was in trouble. "And in that case, you can relax. Since he's so much like your foster father already, I don't think Sir Finn would ask for that big a dow..."

Leaf was at the point where he could a tomato a run for its money. "I'm _not _saving for that purpose! I do have a kingdom to..."

"Better do something about that blush, then."

  
The Lenster prince shot him another stare. "I'm not sure whether I like you better now that you're relaxed, or when you're the dreaded Black Knight."

"That hurts."

"_Aless."_

The man in question chuckled again. "All right, all right, I'll stop. It's your fault, you know, you started it."

  
One moment passed. Leaf's jaws dropped. "You mean it's _my_ fault now?"

"If it's not, whose fault is it?"

"Yours?"

"Me? I'm innocent, Your Highness. Look into my eyes.my eyes...don't you see the innocence simply shining back at you?" Aless grinned again.

"It's too dark to look into anything."

  
"That's a pity."

It was Leaf's turn to laugh. "By the Graces of Noba, you sure have changed. I wouldn't have expected to see you joking like normal people when I first saw you. You're always busy thinking, and looking like you'd ram the Mistortin down the throat of whoever bothers you."

  
"And you haven't? I seem to remember how a certain prince would go to the parapets for long hours, sometimes looking like he'd rather jump down..."

  
"I was _surveying_ the situation. High places are the best," Leaf explained nonchalantly. Mistortin couldn't really see all that well in the light---not that he was trying to see, of course---but it looked almost as if the prince's expression had grown somewhat wistful. "I'm changed too, I guess. Chalk another to Celice," he said, smiling. "Tell me, Aless, what was I like?"

  
"For one thing, weak," Aless answered promptly. He almost seemed surprised when there was no reaction from Leaf. "Determined, sad somehow, insecure, like you're trying to walk up a tall mountain alone. In short, you're lonely."

  
"I only had one friend before. I had my army, but just one friend, and that's Asvel," Leaf said. "You don't know him. I left him in Thracia to take care of things."

Aless nodded. "Nor have I. Chalk another to Celice."

"I want to be back in battle," Leaf sighed. "Doing nothing is worse than risking necks. I've been doing nothing for thirteen years...I was too weak to do anything. And now that I have the strength for it..." Leaf clenched his fists. "Our troops are marching right into a battle with the Emperor who subjugated all of Jugdral, and I'm doing _nothing."_

The young master was silent for a moment. "I understand the sentiments," he finally said after a time. "I couldn't do anything when my mother died."

  
"I apologize."

  
Nothing further was exchanged for the duration that the ironsmith was reforging the light sword, and it left time to ponder the boys' words. He remembered how the pain of doing nothing was like, as Elto wouldn't lift a sword to his king even in the moment of death, and knowing he would die, sent Mistortin to his son in Lenster. He had known his master would die, and he couldn't do anything. Mistortin wondered whether Tyrfing would feel the same, when Sigurd died in the pyres of Falaflame. He wondered whether Fala would think the same, when she saw Alvis dancing like a puppet in the hands of Manfroy, but was powerless to stop it. He wondered whether Gae Bolg and Gungnir would feel the same, knowing that their first masters both longed for reconciliation from each other, but was too proud to admit it, or that the spears themselves ever noticed how much master and blade were alike. He wondered whether Valkyrie would feel the same when Claude died, even as Valkyrie himself had the power to breathe life again unto the dead. He wondered whether Swaschinka and Thor would feel the same, seeing their masters falling into darkness. He wondered whether Ichieval felt it when his mistress forgot him, yet couldn't call out to her. He wondered whether Narga felt sorrow at seeing the world enveloped in darkness while she was locked inside her magnificent shrine. He wondered whether Balmung felt the same, being locked in darkness for generations while the line of her wielders grew old, fought, and died, being unable to do anything but to feel the passing and to mourn. He wondered whether that was the fate of the Holy Weapons, imbued with great power, yet powerless to change anything. He wondered and wondered.

-------------

"Is everyone ready?" Celice called out, turning his horse around to inspect the troops. They were war-weary, having fought all that way from Miletos to Chalphy, but their greatest battle was yet to come. The battle that stood behind the very walls that the boy's forefathers and Tyrfing called home for generations, wielding Falaflame, an old friend from wars long past. Tyrfing had never thought it'd come down to this.

In the wind, he could almost hear her laughing, like she was waiting for the battle to come. 

War cries echoed Celice's question, and there was no further need for speeches to lift the morale. Many of those voices were faint to his ears, but some were strong and filled with the swift flow of the Dragon's touch in their bloods.

The boy unsheathed Tyrfing again, lifting him to the sunlight. "To battle, then! For Jugdral!" he shouted. Other shouts echoed him. Some said the names of their countries, some of Jugdral, some the names of friends and families. Faint, but they existed.

The battle then flew swiftly to familiar procedures. Ladders were thrown on the wall, some that managed to reach the parapets fell, some lived and fought with the defenses. Arrows rained down from the sky, and the warriors below duck beneath their shields. Tyrfing drank the blood of any straggling defenses still left outside the fortress. Above everything else, he heard the faint sound of Fala's laughter. 

A young blonde girl with no armor whatsoever jumped onto one of the ladders, and somehow managed to escape all the scathing hot sand, water, or arrows threw at her. From the moments he caught within one swing and the next, Tyrfing saw her leaping nimbly onto the parapets, cut down a path to the stairs and leapt down. He didn't see her again, but a few moments after that, the portcullis leading to the fortress slowly opened.

Celice wasted no time in ordering a full charge. The knights raced into the gate, defending against arrows or blades as they came, and through the twisted halls of the city. Chalphy was designed with defenses in mind, and soldiers have made the rooftops prime ground for sniping archers. A bearded man who appeared to be Celice's aide-de-camp appeared to know this----Tyfring couldn't help but feel that he was familiar somehow---and ordered the men to take appropriate covers. What few townsfolk that dared appeared out of their homes cheered them on, almost begging the Young Celice to liberate their home and reclaim what was originally his. Celice didn't appear to have heard a thing. The blood fever had entered him, and there was nothing but one moment and the next.

--------------------

Above the town, Fee and Althena circled, too agitated by the defense's archers to risk joining the battle. There was little talk between them, and Gae Bolg knew it was useless to try comforting her little girl, or to try contacting Tyrfing. They were deep in the blood fever now, she knew. They were weapons, and weapons were made to kill.

Then, from the south, she heard a familiar sound. _Mistortin? Mistortin! You're fixed!_

_Just like new, old friend, _the Demon Sword replied cheerily. _I don't think Aless's too pleased about it, though. He seems to have noticed the siege._

_It's not much of a siege, _Gae Bolg corrected him. _Patty went in, incapacitated some guards, and opened the portcullis. Then they just charged._

_I know, _Mistortin said. _Wasn't it always like that? And how's Balmung?_

The Earth Spear paused. She didn't notice Balmung in the fray, but it was possible to miss anything. _I lost track of her, _she admitted. _But you shouldn't have to worry. Shannan can take care of himself._

_With Balmung in his hands, he'd have to be switched with the Johan boy not to, _Mistortin suggested in amusement. _That's a pity. There are things I'd like to discuss with her._

_Mistortin, _she called. _Even if you find Balmung, you plan to discuss winds, birds and skies in the middle of a grand offensive?_

_I'm not going to talk winds, birds and skies, _the Demon Sword argued. _I'm not Gungnir._

Gae Bolg went silent. For a good while.

It was Mistortin who finally spoke first. _I'm sorry._

And the dim figures of Leaf and Aless slowly came into view, to the south.

Down below, the rebels' charge had penetrated half the city and Gae Bolg could make out the faint shadow of Celice jumping down from his horse and beginning to cut down soldiers guarding the main keep.

And, maybe she was just imagining things, but she thought she heard the faint sound of laughter. It was full of sorrow.

--------------------------

To Be Continued

_Author's notes : Yes, I do realize Aless and Leaf were rather uptight to the end of the game...but that was a pretty formal ceremony.Celice's first speech as Mr. King. Personally, I'd like to see them being a bit more relaxed with each other, although that may partly stem from the desire to see Cuan/Eltoshan conversion in-game. And the fact that this fic is labeled as humor, but has been somewhat short of it as of lately. (Canonical evidence suggesting their friendship is in Thracia 776, which...well, that's a secret.)_

_Nanna's pearl earrings...I understand that Leaf actually wanted to buy her a pearl tiara, but he's out of money in this fic. Besides, a tiara would be pretty inconspicuos, and I feel he'd like to save it for the honeymoon. *wicked grin*_

_The siege scene...well, I didn't want to go into details, since books on actual siege techniques are somewhat lacking here, and though I do have some details I can pull off my head, there's no siege of any sort mentioned in game, so I don't want to do a chapter length battle description. When I was playing, however, I felt like it was somewhat unrealistic that an intelligent guy would place himself on the steps of his fortress while ordering all his troops to go down to fight, so I'm mimicking the Thracia 776 scenarios where you can enter one town, but must fight some more to take the castle and so on. Same with the others out of Seisen, actually._

_I'm trying not to go OOC, but it's somewhat difficult when one's writing 'inanimate objects as main characters.' If you have any gripes, feel free to tell me. I accept criticisms. And I won't flame. Unless there's a pretty damn good reason. *grin*_

_The inspiration to do this again came from the recent rush of Rekka no Ken fics...I felt like my beloved Seisen no Keifu was neglected..._

_The next chapter would come when it won't kill me._

_Finally : I'm sorry, everyone! This came out so bloody late! ;_;_


End file.
